Power goes out of him in a wave he has to disentangle himself just a little bit to affect, goes out of him and leaves him dizzy; he could accept that it's just what Charles does to him (has always, a little bit; maybe it's the lack of oxygen)--but it doesn't feel quite like that. If Erik ever got sick he'd think it felt like the onset of a flu--that was, if he'd had one in years, which he hasn't. It passes quickly enough though, even if he can feel he's gone a little pale it doesn't matter right now. The camera in the living room below the staircase still melts in on itself and smokes out, leaving behind acrid wisps of air Erik also ignores in favor of what's directly in front of him.

"Aren't we domineering this morning." It's not false cheerfulness, Erik doesn't have that in him, but it is...as if nothing as changed, a wry dry murmur like he'd give Charles any other day in any other place. He needs to be that right now, be nothing but himself. Consequences can come later.

That said he puts his hands on Charles' face, outlines his cheekbones with the callused pads of his thumbs like he's making sure the slighter man is still real, is nothing but his own self as well, brushing over teartracks and sweeping them to the side. If he were better, less self-oriented, maybe, he'd think about the ache in his bones, the low numb headache and think that if he is getting sick he shouldn't pass it on, but Erik hasn't known how to be anything but self-oriented since he was twenty. So he kisses Charles as if he hasn't seen him in days, which for all he knows he hasn't, can't--there are days in there that he lost, can't get back, but he can have this, can slide his hands down to Charles' shoulders and center his thumbs where his collarbones meet, feel his pulse no longer sluggish and dead, but kicking with life under his fingers.